The New And Improved Tales Of Beedle The Bard
by A Dwimor
Summary: Harry picks up an interesting new book called, "The New And Improved Tales Of Beedle The Bard And Other Notable Homeless And Unemployed Wandering Witches And Wizards Hoping To Make A Galleon" that should be included in every Witch and Wizard's childhood library.


**A/N I obviously do not own the wizarding world. Also, this fic may be offensive to Catholics. Ye have been warned.**

Harry raised an eyebrow at the book in his hand. He'd heard of " _Tales Of Beedle The Bard"_ of course, and had read it in his first year, and he knew it was considered THE collection of stories for the young wizard or witch, but the book in his hand was unfamiliar.

Emblazoned across the green cover in black spidery script was the title " _The New And Improved Tales Of Beedle The Bard And Other Notable Homeless And Unemployed Wandering Witches And Wizards Hoping To Make A Galleon._ " By Halv Prince.

Due to his unfortunate muggle upbringing Harry was decidedly ignorant when it came to certain things in the wizarding world. He decided to give the book a try. He opened it to the first page and settled on the nearest bench.

...

Story 1. Padraig And The Snakes

Padraig opened his eyes, squinting into the sun. The grass beneath him was wet, soaking his fine feast robes. What...the hell? Was all Padraig's hangover addled brain could manage.

Padraig groaned as realization hit. He must have gotten drunk at the feast for his cousin's wedding and accidentally apparated. He began slapping hinself, making certain that his most important appendages were still present and he hadn't splinched himself.

Satisfied finally that he was still a wizard, he raised himself onto his elbows, trying to ignore the disconcerting duplication of his surroundings. In front of him were two identical men, staring at him. Scratch that, one man. One abominably dressed man in skins. Padraig got to his feet rather unsteadily.

The short grey haired man continued to stare at him, leaning on a shepherd's crook. Padraig stared back, eyes crossed. "You know...I can find someone to help you with yer...fashion problem." Padraig slurred, gesturing to all of him.

Skins continued to stare.

Padraig stared back.

Skins stared.

Padraig stared back.

Skins stared.

Padraig lost the final thread of his delicate patience, fumbled for his wand, finally pulled it out of his sleeve and transfigured Skin's skins pink, and smiled in relief.

Skins stared down at his clothes.

Skins screamed, tossing his crook into the air and ran haphazardly down the hill.

 _Ungrateful_ _bastard_.

Padraig stared at the retreating muggle in consternation and picked up the crook, rubbing his forehead with it. "Whatever." He muttered, and set off down the hill.

We say down, but it was more of a zig-zag pattern interspersed with a lot of falling and swearing.

Padraig gave up and let himself roll to the bottom of the hill. He opened his eyes cautiously, and realized he was peckish. Very peckish. His eyes lit on a strange looking plant with three conjoined leaves. He plucked it from the earth, glared at it for a moment, then shoved it into his mouth.

Padraig leapt to his feet, spitting like a madman. "By all the gods...!"

He abruptly stopped wiping his tongue with his hands, looking about him. He was surrounded. By muggles. This wasn't going to end well. He raised his hand in greeting. The scruffy looking man at the front gasped and fell to the ground like a stone, and was quickly mirrored by the dozen or so villagers behind him.

Padraig blinked, confused.

Whatever.

Padraig resumed walking, storming through the middle of the muggles. After about a hundred feet he looked back - And then promptly fell on his rear. Damn chicken holes. Of course he had to end up apparating near a muggle village - The muggles were following him. Padraig picked his fancy self off the ground and started sprinting.

Today was not a day for pyres.

Padraig glanced at the sky, noting the stormy grey; then did an involuntary somersault. Dammit. When he got home, he was joing Alcoholics Wizards and Witches Anonymous. He lay on his back for a moment, trying to remember which way was up. Fat raindrops began to hit his face. Damn. Padraig held a moment of silence for his (formerly) perfectly coiffed hair; the rain was going to ruin it.

Whatever.

Padraig hauled himself to a sitting position, transfiguring his stolen crook to a tree. He heard a gasp behind him, and he twisted about, staring at the sopping wet group of muggles behind him.

Why...?

No matter. Whatever the damn muggles thought he was doing they would probably forget it by tomorrow, and they hadn't tried to roast him yet, so he had no reason to worry about them.

Padraig sighed; rainwater dripping off his red fringe and into his eyes. Of all the places to accidentally apparate, it had to be here. Wherever here was. Padraig pulled a joint out of his robes, lit it, and stuffed the end into his mouth, inhaling with relish. He sighed.

Muuuuuuuuch better.

Padraig was startled out of his reverie by a quiet hissing noise and frightened growling from the inexplicably Lemming muggles behind him. He looked down, finding a pretty emerald snake in front of him, looking at him quizzically.

" _Hello_." Padraig said politely, in Parseltongue.

" _Greetingssss, wizzzzard."_

 _"You live here?"_

 _"Yesssss."_

 _"Awful dump it isss."_

 _"Yesssss. It'ssssss very wet."_

 _"Ever think of leaving?"_

 _"Yessssss. All the time."_

 _"Want to join me?"_

 _"Abssssolutely. Let me call my cousssssinssssss."_

A ssssssussssssssuration rose up from the grasses in answer to the emerald snake. Hundreds of it's kind slithered up to Padraig.

Padraig snapped his fingers, transfiguring the tree née shepherd's crook into a horseless wagon. He leapt into it, gesturing for the snakes to join him.

" _Come with me, and I will take you ssssomewhere better than thisssss ssssshithole._ "

The snakes threw themselves onto the the wagon, and Padraig clicked his teeth, kicking the wagon into gear, ignoring the muggles left behind in his dust. He stood heroically, pointing in the destinational direction indicated by his wand, the wagon obeying.

Hell yeah.

...

Harry shut the book; then blinked, rapidly.

What the heck did he just read...?


End file.
